


Do You Have a Pen I Could Borrow?

by nospacesv



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: < the smoking kind, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Cannabis, First Kiss, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Requited Love, Shotgunning, University AU, ill add tags as i gooo, its university what did you expect, johns a little bit of a stoner, just a heads up, sherlock's thirsty, they might be a bit ooc bc theyre younger in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-04-06 13:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nospacesv/pseuds/nospacesv
Summary: Sherlock and John share a chemistry class, though Sherlock is upset at the fact he can't deduce his lab partner. A little weed, a little luck, and they'll soon be falling in love- hopefully. Though Sherlock *might* be a little too eager.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this one to avoid the one I'm failing to finish! yay procrastination!!   
> anyway i really wanted to write them going to school together, but given that i'm a fully fledged adult i felt weird writing them in like  
> sixth form? so its uni.  
> heads up ive never gone to uni so if it isn't accurate thAt's why.

Classes were boring when you had nobody to talk to, John came to the realisation as he sat at his lab table in chemistry. The teacher was droning on about covalent bonds as the blond-haired boy found himself daydreaming out the window, watching the rain fall. He was currently working through university, with zero clue of what he was going to major in. He considered the medical field, but he was always told he’d have enough time to figure it out. Whatever, he just hopes his A levels didn’t go to waste. 

He sat at the lab table alone as the papers got handed out. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and in walked a tall, lanky fellow. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his coat looked soaked. He nodded at the professor and took the stool diagonally across from John, looking up at him. John gave him a tight smile and went back to reading the summary for the lesson they’d begin soon, glancing occasionally at the other.

“Do you have a pen I could borrow?” The dark-haired mystery man asks John after fiddling in his bookbag for a minute or so. He looked tired, maybe he overslept.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He muttered in response, and handed him a blue biro with a small smile. They made eye contact for a moment. The taller man’s glare was… intense. His eyes were a pale blue, piercing through his soul, as if he was reading every possible fact about John as he looked him over. He gave John a nod of thanks and got back to scribbling angrily on the paper handed out.

After the professor gave them the all clear to start their group work, John looked up at the man sitting at his table.

“Did you want to partner up?” John asked.

“I suppose that would make the most sense.” He spoke, his voice sounded like honey.

“I’m John, by the way.”

“Sherlock.” John grinned slightly and started mumbling the questions to him, glancing up when they got to the answer portion.

As the class ended, John packed up his own things, and glanced over at Sherlock. His hair had dried for the most part, and it was a little frizzy. He wondered what it’d look like dry, maybe styled. Could be quite nice. John was suddenly brought back to reality when he was handed the pen he had let Sherlock borrow.

“Ta, see you.” He gave a tight smile and walked out the door to the library, tucking the pen behind his ear.

 

* * *

 

John worked in the library occasionally, making himself some pocket change to spend on the weekend. He spent his afternoons putting books away, listening to his music in one headphone. It was a mind-numbing process, but he usually used it to let his mind wander. He found himself running his fingers over the spines, looking for the nonfiction section. As he placed back a book focusing on the Russian revolution, he made eye contact with the person on the other side of the shelf. His usual protocol when someone was staring was to frown until they stopped, but those blue eyes looked all too familiar.

“Are you watching me?” John asked, placing the book where it rightfully belonged.

“Possibly.”

“Take me out to dinner before you start undressing me with your eyes, mate.” His face scrunched up with discomfort before pushing his cart, heading over to poetry.

“That wasn’t my intention.” Sherlock’s voice spoke suddenly behind him, making John jump out of his skin and drop a heavy Shakespeare book near his foot.

“ _ Christ on a bike,  _ give someone a warning yeah?” He hissed as he bent over to pick up.

“I didn’t want you to think I was sexualising you, I’m just having trouble reading-”

“Must be weird for you to be in the library, then. Tends to be where people  _ read. _ ” He sneered, fixing the tape on one of the book’s spines.

“I’m having trouble reading  _ you, _ John.”

“Not a book, Sherlock. You should check out the row two to the left, full of one’s on serial killers. You’re not doing a good job at luring me to my death- consider taking notes.” He wheeled his trolley away again as the taller man glared daggers at him.

Thankfully for John, that was the last interaction they had that night. The nerve of London boys was intense, he noted, as he finished up his work and headed to his shitty apartment across the street from his university. 

“Hiya Greg.” He spoke to his roommate, throwing his backpack on the floor by the coat rack 

“Hey John, how’s the library treating ya?” Greg called out from the kitchen, sipping on a lukewarm beer. 

“Fine, I guess? Someone I sat with in chemistry thought it’d be hot if they followed me around the aisles and eye-fucked me.”

“Weird, you get their number though?”

“Come off it, I’m not gonna shag him.”

“Oooh it’s a  _ him _ is it?” He jeered.

“Yeah, but he’s weird, mate. I’m telling you. Something about  _ reading _ me.” He took his shoes off, kicking them into the corner with his bag.

“Is he hot though?” He finished his beer off, setting the empty can upside-down in the sink.

“Doesn’t matter, we  _ aren’t _ fucking.” 

“Tell me that again in a week when you’ve got him-”

“Enough Greg! Unlike some people, I didn’t join uni to get my dick wet every night. I gotta go to bed, 8AM class tomorrow.”

“ ‘Night John!” Greg yelled out as John slammed his bedroom door shut.

 

* * *

 

John stared at his empty room, clad with a few posters and dead houseplants on the shelves used as bookends. He’d been saving up for a desk, because his was currently in pieces on the floor. How it fell apart, he didn’t bother asking Greg. He was gone for a weekend and came back to a broken table. Simple as that, really. John think he feared knowing the truth, and savoured the little bit of ignorance he had. He didn't care, the table had been his since he was thirteen, and could really use replacing.

He plopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling as he laid down in his jeans and sweater, too lazy to bother getting out of them. The sound of the rain pitter-pattering against his window lulled him into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

His English studies class was boring, mostly taking notes on authors and their patterns in metaphors. However, he hoped it lingered on, because he knew his next class would be chemistry, and he didn’t know if he could handle Sherlock. He had to fight himself to stay awake during those last few minutes, and he packed his bags up slowly and slowly walked across campus to his next class, his umbrella not doing much with the downpour.

He sat down at his usual seat, folding his brolly up and putting it on the stool next to him. He rummaged for his notes and worksheets, waiting for class to start. Just as he hoped he had gotten out of dealing with the mystery man, in came Sherlock, his hair dry this time, and sat at the seat where they’d first met.

“Do you have a pen I can borrow?” He asked softly, not making eye contact with John

“Y’know they sell them at Poundland, yeah? Could pick up a pack for cheap.” He spoke numbly, handing the same blue biro over.

“I could, but then how would I find an excuse to talk to you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You intrigue me, John. And I fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“I’ve hardly spoken to you-”

“What I’m trying to say is… I’d like to get to know you.” He finally made eye contact, his eyes looking softer than the first time.

“Are you mad?” He spoke, before the professor started speaking and his voice turned to a whisper.

“Possibly.” He was still looking at John, and gave him a wink. An actual wink. The shorter man rolled his eyes before scribbling down the lecturer's notes.

Much to John’s disdain, this professor was very much into group work, and handed them a sheet on Avogadro’s Law. 

John looked over at Sherlock, a faint grin on his face.

“Would you like to work together?” The taller man asked, grazing over his papers, covered in chicken scratch and drawings.

“Sure, Number one-” John began reading the questions out, looking up and discussing the answers with Sherlock. He noticed the blue-eyed man had a very faint smile on his face when they made eye contact. John took it as a grain of salt, though he couldn’t feel a little bit flustered. 

They finished their work surprisingly quickly, even though Sherlock’s notes looked like nothing, he seemed to have an extensive knowledge on these topics. This gave them time for what both the men dreaded: small talk.

“So do you usually stalk your lab partners at their jobs?” John asked, fiddling with the pen in his hand.

“No, you’re the first.”

“Wow, stalker’s first stalkee. I feel quite special.”

“I was in the library and saw you, the eye contact was accidental. I worried I had startled you and meant to make amends, though I think I scared you off.”

“Not good at making friends are you?” John couldn’t help but have a grin on his face. He liked pushing this chap’s buttons.

“Who said anything about making friends?” The taller man had a grin on his face as well.

“Feeling cheeky eh? It’s a bit early for flirting.” Which only earned him a small chuckle from Sherlock, a sound John wasn’t expecting to enjoy so much.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“Are you already trying to ask me on a date?”

“No, it’s Friday night. Usually people go out to clubs and party and… things. It was a feeble attempt at small talk.”

“Well, My roommate usually throws a party, so I’ll hide in my room and get stoned out of my mind. You?”

“You smoke?” Sherlock’s eyes widen as he straightens his back.

“Pretty rarely, but yeah. You?”

“No, but it very much is on my bucket list. I smoke cigarettes, but nobody will sell me cannabis.”

“Maybe because you call it cannabis. Look,” John scribbled something on the corner of his notebook paper before tearing it out “If you’re serious about this, text me and I’ll spot you some, see if you like it.”

“How about tonight?”

“So you  _ were _ asking me out on a date.”

“And what if I am?” He had a wicked smirk on his face. John wasn’t sure if he wanted to slap or kiss it off his smug face.

The professor excused the class and John packed his bag, and Sherlock stood in front him, holding the pen out.

“Thank you for the pen, John. I look forward to texting you.”

“Nutter.” John spoke with a soft laugh, taking his pen and awkwardly shuffling by Sherlock, heading out the door. 

John opened up his umbrella and walked across to his apartment, still baffled how he managed to get swindled into a date with Sherlock. He wasn’t sure if he’d regret this or not.

 

* * *

 

“Oi, John. Having some of the lads over tonight, you interested?” Greg spoke from his usual spot on the sofa as John walked in and took his coat off.

“Sorry mate, got plans.”

“Oh yeah? Is it with that chemistry cutie?”

“...No.” He kicked his shoes off, trying to not sound suspicious.

“IT IS!”

“It-it’s not like that, ok? He just wants to smoke some weed. He’s probably just using me to get a high for free.”

“And you’re letting him?” Greg raised an eyebrow.

“Would you rather I sulk in my bedroom the entire weekend or go out this one time with this person and at least have  _ something  _ happen to me?” 

“Hm, good point. Be safe, yeah? Got some condoms in the medicine cabinet if you need ‘em-”

“You’re rank.” John huffed and walked into his room, sitting on his bed. He checked his phone to see he’d gotten a text message from an unknown number.

 

_ Hello, John. -SH _

 

_ SH? don’t know any SHs _

 

_ You do, or I was given the wrong number. It’s Sherlock. -SH _

 

_ riiight ok now you have to tell me your last name _

 

_ Why don’t I tell you when you come over to my apartment? -SH _

 

_ cheeky so-and-so _

_ you in the baker building? _

 

_ I am. Room number 221B -SH _

 

_ right ok i’m in 566A _

_ what time dyou want me to come over? _

 

_ I will text you when I am available. I am currently in forensics. -SH _

 

_ cool just lemme know _

 

_ Of course, John. -SH _

 

John groaned as he placed his phone next to him, pulling out his laptop and began writing. He had been keeping some writing entries, a sort-of journal style of interesting things that had happened so far. So far, he’d written about the sandwich shortage at M&S and the ‘mind-blowing’ thoughts he had whilst inebriated, filled with typos and unfinished sentences. 

He only left his room to pick out an apple from the fridge, one of the few fruits he felt comfortable investing in. University days were filled with toast, eggs, and liquor, and John wasn’t sure if him and Greg would die of liver damage or scurvy sooner. Apples were cheap, too, so that’s a plus.

“You waiting on your lover boy?” Greg called out, walking out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

“You shaved for Laura didn’t you?” John spoke, ignoring the question as he binned his apple core.

“ ‘Course not, just a little manscaping. For me. It’s called self care.”

“Right ok, lemme know how it goes yeah?” His voice trailed off as his phone vibrated on the counter.

“He’s already got your number? Christ, mate, he’s got you around his finger.”

“Piss off.” John rolled his eyes as he read the messages.

 

_ If convenient, come at once. -SH _

 

_ If inconvenient, come anyway. -SH _

 

John sighed, putting on his jumper and picking up his rucksack, walking out the door and into the elevator.

As John arrived to level two, he suddenly felt his stomach drop. Nerves overcame him as he forced himself to walk up to the door marked 221B, knocking softly. He was going to regret this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies in advance if the dialogue makes zero sense  
> they're high.

“John, hello.” The taller man answered the door, a small smirk on his face. He was wearing a button up and slacks, which felt utterly formal for two men to be smoking in. John suddenly felt underdressed in his  two-sizes-too-big university hoodie, which he deemed his smoking jacket. He gestured to let John walk in the door, shutting it gently behind them.

“Alright?” John asked, placing his bag down on the sofa.

“Quite fine, thank you. Yourself?”

“Good, yeah. Did you want to smoke in the living room? Can get it a bit smelly.” The shorter man took the time to look around the living room, filled with old looking furniture and pinned insects on the wall. Interesting. 

“That’s quite alright. I’m convinced my room smells like a Las Vegas casino with the lingering tobacco smoke anyway.” 

John laughed awkwardly and opened his bag, and pulled out what looked like a cigar box. He opened the box, and a waft of a smell similar to a skunk tickled Sherlock’s nose. The taller man peeked over, and saw a pipe, a grinder, and a lighter.

“I’ve never rolled a joint before so we’ll have to use my piece, is that ok?”

“You’ll have to show me how to use it.”

“It’s quite easy, really.” John opened the bottom of the grinder, tipping in some weed. He packed it in, and picked up his lighter.

“Let’s smoke, shall we?”

 

* * *

  
  


John and Sherlock were now hunched over the floor, grinning at each other as they listened to music on the radio. 

“My head feels like it’s moving- Am I moving?”

“I mean a bit, yeah? Aren’t we always moving though? Can you even stand perfectly still?” John stifled a giggle, his body lax, trying to make his body as still as possible. "No, it's definitely impossible."

“I heard that cannabis can make emotions so much nicer to enjoy, but if I knew how easier it was to think on it, I would’ve tried it a lot sooner.”

“Glad I could be your first,” John chuckled, lighting up his pipe and taking another hit, coughing. “You never did tell me your last name.”

“Holmes.”

“Holmes yeah?”

“Why would I lie about my last name?” It was Sherlock’s time to laugh, his eyes glazed over and his cheeks pink.

“Could be a spy. Might be an undercover cop here to arrest college students with illegal substances.”

“I doubt I’d smoke with the culprit if I was here to arrest them.”

“Nu-uh, can’t arrest you if you’re high. Can only arrest you if you have the substance on you.”

“Did you research these laws?”

“Mmm maybe? What’s it to you? Are you a cop? Legally you  _ have  _ to tell me.”

“I’m not a cop, though might be fun to be one. Get to put a bunch of people in handcuffs and yell at them.” His hands were all over the place, his eyes staring off into the distance before looking at John and grinning wildly.

 

“Why were you so eager to smoke anyway?” John spoke after a moment of silence as he laid down on the rug, staring at the ceiling. He liked the rug, it made a soft pillow. He reckoned if he focused hard enough him and the rug could become one.

“My brain’s chaotic, I had to find a distraction, and it seemed like the safest option.” Sherlock had joined him on the floor.

“How do you mean?”

“I observe many things, and log everything I can imagine. It gets overwhelming and the information comes flooding.”

“Might need something more than weed to stop that.” John murmured, shutting his eyes.

“Tempting.” He mumbled, rolling onto his side and looked at the shorter man, propping himself up on his elbow, his head resting on his own palm. 

“Are you ok if I spend the night here?” John asked, lulling his head to the side and looking at the man hovering above him.

“I thought I was the one going too fast.” 

“I meant sleep on your sofa, or maybe on this rug. It’s a nice rug.”

“Stole it from my brother.”

“How’d you manage that?” John was giggling

“I rolled it up and ran for it. He wasn’t fast enough.” The taller man spoke with a chuckle, laying back down on the floor.

“The Unstoppable Sherlock Holmes.” John hummed, a lopsided grin on his face.

“You never told me your last name.”

“Watson.”

“John Watson… has a nice ring to it.”

“Thanks, I’ll let my mum know when I talk to her next.” 

 

Silence. The air around them was heavy, full of lingering smoke and just general warmth. It felt nice, like a comfortable silence. John found himself looking over at the man next to him

“You’re staring.” Sherlock spoke, his eyes shut.

“Call it payback for the library.” The taller man opened one eye and peered over, smirking.

“Maybe if we plan further ahead for this next time,” John spoke again “I could have someone roll us a spiff.”

“Your stoner terms give me a headache.”

“They’re half tobacco, half weed. Think you’d like ‘em.”

“Is that implying there’d be a next time?”

“If you want there to be.” It was John’s turn to smirk.

“I like the sound of that.” His voice sounded far away, and John sat up and checked his phone for any messages. Greg sent him a message asking how it was going, and he ignored it. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. 

“D’you need a drink? My mouth feels like a cactus.” John stood up, his knees wobbling slightly.

“Please, there’s cups in a… cupboard in the kitchen.”

“Right, ok.” John giggled and walked to the kitchen, hunting for two glasses, pouring water from the sink. John hovered over the man on the floor, two filled glasses in hand.

“You might need to get up, mate.” John mumbled, as the taller man let out a groan and sat up, taking a sip. John sat himself down on the loveseat, drinking his water a little bit too fast, resulting in a drop or two rolling down his chin.

Sherlock looked at him, sipping his own drink.

“Do you find me attractive?” The taller man spoke, causing John to cough slightly, his water almost going down the wrong pipe.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Do you find me,” Sherlock gestured to his body “Attractive?”

“Very..” John wasn’t sure if it was him or the weed talking, but he knew for a certain he had no idea sure where this was going.

“Good to know.” His voice sounded distant.

“How about me? Said you had trouble reading me, does that mean I’m ugly?”

“It’s very easy for me to look at someone and figure out their whole life story, but you? Impossible. You are _very_ good-looking.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Maybe  _ I’m _ the mystery man.” John stretched, his muscles sighing with relief. He packed another bowl for the two, cocking an eyebrow at Sherlock.

“How many more times do we have to smoke together until I can kiss you?” He hummed, swirling his glass of water before taking another sip.

“Three,” John responded casually as he took a hit, coughing out the hot air, handing it over to Sherlock. The taller man placed his glass down on the coffee table and took it, taking a hit and coughing quite loudly.

“Why three?”

“I like the number. Maybe next time we won’t be as fucked up and I’ll be able to hold a genuine conversation with you.”

“It’s an odd number.” Sherlock took another hit, his jaw lax as he let the smoke almost fall out his mouth, a lopsided grin appearing on his face.

“And it’s prime.” John snorted, draining the last of his glass before setting it on the coffee table next to Sherlock’s half-full glass.

Sherlock nodded, humming along to the tune on the radio, swaying his head side to side with the beat. John stood up and turned the music up, swaying his head side to side as well. He knew he looked like an idiot but it just felt so  _ nice _ not to care. The music filled his ears, causing a huge grin on his face he couldn’t control. He shut his eyes, letting the sounds and noises take over his movements, feeling at one with the music and his bones.

“I haven’t heard this song in years!” He called at Sherlock, peering over at him. 

“My body feels like a river.” Sherlock spoke, smiling at John, his posture relaxing.

“Isn’t it weird?” John laughed, turning the volume down as the song changed. “One time my roommate ate six edibles and was convinced he saw God.”

“That’s utterly impossible!” Sherlock sounded exasperated.

“He was  _ gone _ , stuff like that happens all the time. If we could control it, we wouldn’t have any fun.”

“Is that why you smoke?”

“Maybe, what’s it to you?” He called out over the music, as Sherlock stood up- his shirt was disheveled and untucked; his hair messy as he combed through it with his fingers over and over throughout the night.

“Why won’t you let me in?” Sherlock hunched down and spoke to John’s forehead, frowning.

“Visiting hours are over, come back in the morning.” John mumbled, looking up at the man, barely two inches away from him.

“Are you sure we have to wait another three times, John Watson?” The taller man purred, looking at John in the eye. His eyes were pink, and his eyelids looked heavy. He cocked his head to the side, looking at John’s mouth as he spoke.

“You asked, I told you.”

“It could’ve been a rhetorical question to give you the idea of kissing me.”

“Should’ve been more clear then.” John stuck his tongue out, scrunching his eyes, and then giggled.

“You’re uncertain if you can trust me.”

“Well yeah, we just met,” John patted the taller man’s shoulder “Might be a bit awkward to shag my lab partner and never talk to him again.”

“Who said anything of that? I just wanted to kiss.”

“I know men, Sherlock. You can’t hide it from me. A kiss turns into a smooch, a smooch turns into a snog, and a snog turns into a shag. It’s basic men-to-men etiquette.” 

“What if I wanted to do more than just shag?” John’s eyes widened as he spoke, a cold chill going through his spine. Oh no.

“Suddenly I’m sober and need to leave-” John started packing his back, a weird look on his face.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“You just asked me to be your boyfriend? I don’t even know your favourite colour,” John shook his head. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Not like that John I- this cannabis is making my head foggy I-” He placed a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. John froze, looking down at the hand. Suddenly he felt scared, he regrets smoking so much. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock spoke again, his voice soft “I just meant I didn’t want this to be a one time occurance. I’d like to get to know you.”

John sighed, relaxing his shoulders. He turned around and looked at the taller man as he shrugged his hand off.

“Are you an alien?” John asked, his face showing few emotions.

“You keep making assumptions of my identity.”

“God, you’re a looney.” He was laughing as he spoke, though the taller man didn’t take lightly to it.

“My apologies, John.”

There was a moment of silence as the two men stared at each other.

“Hungry?” Sherlock asked with a hopeful tone.

“Starving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i was high when i wrote this  
> they were high  
> it was a thing and i loved it
> 
> i REALLY wanted my boys to get stoned. sue me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont work today and i just wanna write as much as possible excuse the heavy updating
> 
> i remember eating indian food for the first time whilst high and i cried it was so delicious

“I would like two orders of the number seven please,” The taller man spoke, glancing over at John. “Oh and some of those papadom things.” They’d found themselves in an Indian takeaway shop. The person taking their order was a tired teenager, probably the son of the owner. John knew that he knew that they were high. Sherlock was not good at hiding it, but he didn’t care. Call the police, in London on a Friday night because two college kids smell like pot? Hilarious.

They sat down in the booth near the front, waiting for their food.

“Is it obvious?” Sherlock leaned over, whispering.

“ ‘Course it is, just act like it isn’t.” John was grinning, watching Sherlock’s fascination and glee reminded him of when he first got high. The blond man was focusing hard on making his body movements look normal, not out of place. He knew if he lingered on them for too long he’d look suspicious. 

They sat around talking, their minds fuzzy until they called the number of their food. Sherlock had to check the receipt four times to make sure it was correct, and they left into the cold London air to head back to his apartment.

“Eating stoned is an experience, Sherlock, are you ready for this?” John spoke, cross-legged on the floor with his steaming styrofoam container sitting in his lap, plastic fork in hand.

“It smells orgasmic.” Sherlock grinned, before taking a bite. Their eating was filled with ‘mmm’s and ‘yum’s

As the night droned on, full of stupid and idiotic conversations they’d soon forget, John and Sherlock were slowly coming down from their high.

“Is it still ok if I crash on your sofa?” He asked, curled up in a ball against the armrest of the loveseat, hugging his knees. Coming down always made him very sleepy. 

“Yes, of course. Unless my previous actions made you uncomfortable.” 

“You’re fine, jus’ caught me off guard.” He leaned his head into the back pillow of the loveseat, letting go of his legs. If he shut his eyes right now, John was certain he’d be asleep in a matter of seconds. He shook his head awake, fighting to keep his heavy eyelids open, and took his jumper off, placing it on the floor.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me. Bathroom’s on the left, I’m on the right.” Sherlock spoke, a very faint smile on his face. He rummaged around in his ottoman and pulled out a blanket, a soft blue one. He handed it to the shorter man who cuddled himself up in it with a grin.

“Ta, I’ll text you when I get home in the morning.”

“ ‘Night John.” The taller man spoke, flicking the lightswitch off.

“ ‘Night Sherlock.” He called out, shimmying into a comfy position on the sofa.

 

* * *

 

John woke up feeling very groggy. He looked around the foreign room he was in, as the sunlight beamed through the gap between the curtains. He heard faint music coming from what could only be Sherlock’s room. It sounded melodic, though repetitive, almost like he was playing the same few measures over and over.

The shorter man stood up from the sofa, stretching his arms above his head. He folded the blue blanket and left it where he had slept, slipped his shoes on, and left with his backpack over his shoulder.

 

_ just got back, thanks for letting me sleep there _

 

_ Of course, thank you for letting me try cannabis. -SH _

 

_ not a problem! _

 

His apartment was a sty when he had opened the door, with red cups, empty beer cans, and discarded articles of clothing thrown everywhere. Greg was currently unconscious on the sofa, which was good. Meant no questions would be asked about where John had spent the night. He tiptoed into his room, opened his laptop, and began to type his recent night plans. He saved them in a folder marked ‘two hundred and twenty one’, because ‘my chemistry partner wants to shag me’ was too obvious.

After about half an hour of typing, his phone buzzes.

 

_ You left your jumper here. It reeks of marijuana. -SH _

 

_ sorry- guess it’s another reason for us to see each other though isn’t it?  _

 

_ Are you the one playing games now, John Watson? -SH _

 

_ possibly. _

_ ;) _

 

_ Maybe I’ll hold your jumper ransom, and never give it back. -SH _

 

_ oh whatever shall i do without my fucking shite uni jumper? i’ll go mad. _

 

_ The Undeniable Insanity of John Watson and the Missing Weed Jumper would be an interesting read. -SH _

 

_ maybe i’ll take notes and see how crazy i turn without my jumper. _

 

_ Oh? Is an experiment afoot? -SH _

 

_ who’s to say? :P _

 

They spent the entire Saturday texting, as John listened to music and revised for his maths unit test the professor had mentioned the week before. It was this Monday, and maths was  _ not _ John’s strong suit.

He couldn’t tell if Sherlock was actually flirting with him. His texting was very formal, but John kinda liked it. Added a change to the usual messages he got sent. 

They stayed up late texting during the night, and John started to finally understand how this aloof idiot worked.

 

_ oh my roommate brought someone over. great. _

 

_ Is it not somebody you like? -SH _

 

_ don’t actually know her. all i can hear is her screaming greg’s name. _

 

_ Greg? -SH _

 

_ put two and two together, sherlock.  _

_ you got a big brain, shouldn’t take too long. _

 

_ That’s his name. I see. -SH _

 

_ there ya go holmes.  _

 

_ Does he usually bring over people to have sex with without your knowledge? -SH _

 

_ yeah but i don’t mind really?  _

_ can i ask a question. _

 

_ Of course. Though I do think your roommate should at least tell you.-SH _

 

_ why do you keep signing your texts? we’ve been talking all day, i know it’s you. _

_ and he usually sends me a ‘heads up’ text but i haven’t checked. _

 

_ I wasn’t sure if you saved my phone number at first, and now I think it’s turned into a rather simple habit to keep. -SH _

 

_ it’s cute, in a weird but quirky way. _

 

_ Thank you, I think. -SH _

 

John smiled at his phone, enjoying the messages. Sherlock was beginning to grow on him- though his thoughts were cut short by a very loud grunt from his roommate in the other room. 

 

_ are you busy _

 

_ Not particularly, why? -SH _

 

_ my roommate’s currently grunting very loudly and i’ve got a test to revise for. texting you has also held me back _

_ library in 15? _

 

_ Would you rather come to my place again? It’s pouring outside. -SH _

 

_ are you sure? _

 

_ Only if it counts to our three hangouts. -SH _

_ :-) -SH _

 

_ i’ll be right there. _

 

John crammed his laptop and maths notebook into his rucksack, heading to the lift and going down to floor two; and right up to door 221B. For some reason, as he got closer the door, he didn't feel an ounce of tension within himself to stop him from doing so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come get your gays

“Hey stranger.” John spoke as Sherlock answered the door. The first thing he noticed was the taller man was, in fact, wearing his jumper. He cocked an eyebrow in surprise, and the taller man pretended to look clueless. John noted that he’d washed it, and managed to get that pesky stain out of the right sleeve. Bastard.

“Come in, John.” Sherlock was smirking as he moved out of the way to let John in. John sat down on the sofa, getting his notes out first, frantically reading over them. 

“What are you revising for?” The taller man asked, peeking over at the notes.

“Maths, useless shite.” He grumbled, a deep frown on his face. He only looked up from his notes as Sherlock sat down next to him, leaving a respectable amount of distance between them.

“How did I not notice your dining room table when I came over last?” John spoke, staring at the microscope and stacks upon stacks of papers, weighted down with jars filled with body parts.

“You were under the influence, don’t doubt your observing skills so easily.” He murmured, glancing over at his messy work station.

“What class is it for?”

“It’s not.”

“Right ok, makes total sense. Running any particular experiments at the moment?”

“I’m trying to find the corrosive effects that vary between certain levels of household cleaners on certain plants and body parts. Simple compare and contrast, really.”

“Why?”

“Might come in handy one day, though nobody takes me seriously.”

“I mean if they’re in controlled environments and you write down all your steps, don’t see why they wouldn’t.” John spoke softly, frowning at the graphs he had written down. He got in the zone, until he heard a soft flick of a lighter, and he glanced over to see Sherlock lighting a cigarette.

“Sorry, I would go on my balcony but it’s horrible out there.”

“It’s fine mate, your flat and all that.”

“Would you like one?”

“Can never smoke a full one without my stomach twisting, could I just take a hit from yours?” John looked over and watched the ebony-haired man take a long drag, nodding. John held his hand out expecting the cigarette, but he was only greeted with Sherlock’s mouth a millimetre away from his. He frowned, but reluctantly opened his mouth. The taller man breathed his smoke into John’s mouth, as the blond man inhaled and then exhaled. He deliberately blew the smoke in Sherlock’s face as the taller man scooted back to his side, winking. 

“Cheers.” John mumbled, acting like the oddly personal action hadn’t caused him to blush. 

Sherlock picked up a rather large seashell off the table near the arm of the sofa, and ashed his cigarette in it. 

“It’s a waste of a good Abalone, but makes me feel more mysterious when I smoke.” Sherlock spoke as he saw John’s confused expression. John couldn’t help but laugh at that response.

“You don’t happen to know anything about graphing imaginary numbers, do you?” John asked after a moment of silence.

“What’s your question?” Sherlock cocked his head to the side, the butt of his cigarette resting on his lips as he spoke.

“Why the fuck am I still bothering to study when I know I’m going to fail?”

“That’s a bit extreme, John. You’re smarter than you think,” Sherlock scooted closer and glanced over, putting his cigarette out. “What you want to do is…” Sherlock took the pencil gently from John’s hand, their shoulders were now touching. “This.”

“How did you do that-”

“Watch,” Sherlock started scribbling, though John found himself glancing over at the taller man beside him more than the actual maths equation they were supposed to be solving. “Alright, now you try.”

John shook his head slightly, snapping back into reality as he frowned at the problem, following the steps Sherlock had shown him.

“Congratulations John Watson, you understand the basic fundamentals of graphing.” Sherlock smirked as he watched John’s eyes light up with excitement.

“ _ Shit _ yeah. Take that, professor!” John made a jerked movement, and nearly threw his pencil down with excitement. Sherlock, though confused, had a smile on his face.

“Who teaches your maths class?” The taller man asked, putting both his arms on the back of the sofa, leaning his head back.

“Robertsons.”

“Oh he’s absolutely dreadful no wonder you’re struggling.” Sherlock huffed, looking up at the ceiling.

“Yeah? D’you have him?”

“Unfortunately. His underbite makes it terribly difficult to understand what he’s saying, and his revision always includes lessons he didn’t go over.”

“Seriously? No wonder I felt like I was reading a foreign language.”

“And his wife left him about six months ago. Reckon that might make teaching difficult?”

“O-kay, I know that wasn’t in the syllabus. Did he tell you that?”

“I told you, John, I observe. It was easy, really.”

“Are you going to tell me how you did it?” John had put his notebook on the coffee table, and looked over at the taller man.

“He still has his wedding ring on, but no pictures including his wife on his desk. The frames are newly empty, you can tell. If you look closely at the frames, the backing is ripped around the corner, clearly taken apart in a frantic rage. He thought they were getting better, she didn’t. His hands were stained with hair dye last week, alongside a car manufacturer's tab he’d left open before a presentation of parabolas. He’d also started wearing contacts and shirts that were too small. Simple. He’s in the midst of a mid-life crisis which was triggered by his wife leaving him for someone younger.”

“Brilliant.” John spoke, eyes wide. Sherlock looked confused.

“Are you sure that’s what you meant to say?”

“Why? What do people usually say?”

“Piss off.” Which earned Sherlock a genuine giggle from the other man.

 

* * *

 

 

“Right, should probably get back to my place.” John noted after a long conversation, his maths revision long forgotten about. He packed his bag up reluctantly after he checked his phone for the time, realising it was well past 2AM

“Would you like me to walk you to your flat?” Sherlock spoke, stretching his back.

“You don’t have to, but you can.” John threw his rucksack onto his shoulder as the taller man stood up, walking behind him out of the door.

The journey to the flat was quiet, and John struggled to keep up with the taller man’s strides. John found himself looking at Sherlock more than where he was stepping, and nearly pressed the wrong lift button. He hated being nervous around someone, but he just couldn't help it. Sherlock did things to his heart that rarely happened to him.

“Here I am.” John nodded to his door, fiddling for his keys out of his jean’s pocket. 

“Here you are.” 

They both just stared at each other. Sherlock cocked his head to the side, looking down at the shorter man with a coy expression.

“I’ll give you a kiss if you give me back my hoodie.” 

“I’m not wearing anything underneath it.” John was sure he saw the taller man wink at him.

“Shame,” John started unlocking his door, opening it. “Now’s your last chance, Holmes.”

Sherlock opened his mouth and then shut it, nodding once. He wasn’t looking at John, but rather behind him into the apartment. 

“ ‘Night John.”

“ ‘Night Sherlock. Send me a message when you get home safe, yeah?” John was smiling, his back facing the open door as he watched Sherlock stride away.

 

“Was that him?” A voice spoke behind John, making him jump. He turned on his heel to see a smug-looking Greg.

“What do you think, Greg?” John looked bothered as he walked in, closing the door behind him.

“Listen, the sooner the better you snog him.” 

“Didn’t you have a girl over?” John asked, glancing around their apartment, looking for the girl in question.

“She left after we were done. No but seriously, Mike and I have a bet going on. I reckon it’s gonna be four more days- If I win he’s giving me a hundred quid.”

“You serious?” 

“Yeah! Shook on it and everything. Don’t tell him I told you, though.”

“Look, Greg, I’m not ruining a friendship so you can get some quick money-”

“Come  _ on _ , the chap wants it, you want it, I don’t see the issue! Bet he probably would’ve gone for it too if we didn’t make eye contact. Look, I can give you half if you want.”

“Can you do me a favour and fuck off?” John was frowning as he headed to his room, taking his jeans off before crawling under the covers in a huff. That was then his phone vibrated.

 

_ Arrived back to my apartment safely. -SH _

 

John smiled at the text, and then frowned at himself for smiling. He hated that he was happy talking to this man. Or at least he thought he should hate falling so easily.

 

_ sleep well  _

 

_ I’ll dream of you, John Watson. -SH _

 

_ promise?  _

 

_ For you? Anything. -SH _

 

John’s heart was pounding in his chest. He felt flustered and infatuated, a feeling he rarely felt. He looked up at the ceiling, placing his phone on his nightstand. He shut his eyes tight, hoping his nerves would calm down and he’d be able to sleep normally.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "ohohohohohohohohoho" - my brain writing this chapter  
> oH i make a joke with the word fag in this this chapter but it's a one time occurance  
> gregs an Idiote

 

He woke up, the cold air around him greeting him sharply as he kicked the duvet off. He yawned, stretching his legs before standing up, swinging his arms to crack his back. He glanced out of the window, seeing the bleary weather outside. He yearned for summer, not only for the vacation but a break from the damp weather London seemed to never get rid of. He wished he was in Brighton, staring at the coloured beach huts, enjoying an ice lolly and the breeze. Maybe with Sherlock, his hand holding onto the taller man’s. A happy thought, but unrealistic. 

He walked out of his room, towel in hand, and walked into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him before turning the shower taps on, waiting for the water to run warm.

He stripped and hopped under the shower, scrubbing his body and hair. He hated taking long showers, his legs always got stiff. Though, it was a nice place to think. He stuck his hand out from the shower curtain near the counter, and grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste. He scrubbed his teeth in the shower and spat down the drain. Their sink was clogged again, and he didn’t feel like unclogging the drain to spit out a mouthful of toothpaste and saliva.

John stepped out of the shower, drying himself down and wrapping the same towel around his waist, heading to his room to change. 

He emerged from his room, his hair had gone fluffy as it air dried. Grabbing his wallet and a canvas bag, he headed out the door into the real world.

 

* * *

 

John went shopping in the co op, picking up a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, various frozen meals, and a pack of cigarettes. After he paid, he walked out, and started to walk home. On his way to the lift, he got a message.

 

_ I’d like to see you tonight. -SH _

 

_ is there a night you don’t want to see me?  _

 

_ I haven’t thought of one yet. I felt upset, almost, when you left last night. -SH _

_ You’re good company. -SH _

 

_ i have class tomorrow, mate. dunno if i can hang out as late as we did last night. _

_ maths test, remember? _

 

_ Of course, I’d forgotten. -SH _

 

John opened the door to his flat, nodding in the direction of Greg. His roommate was watching football on the television, a pack of crisps in his lap. He hung his jacket up to dry, for it had started to rain on his way home.

“Talking to whatshisface?” Greg asked, a wide grin on his face as John’s phone vibrated.

“He wants to see me again.”

“That’d be the third time you two hang out in a row. Christ, he’s eager isn’t he?”

“He’s kinda warming up on me. Maybe I’ll get that fifty quid from you sooner than I thought.” John teased as he put away the shopping. Greg stood up and eyed what John had bought, and then he frowned.

“Why’d you get Chesterfields? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a fag. Well-” 

“Don’t,” John groaned, tilting his head back, “They’re for him, ok?”

“Surprised you didn’t buy a bottle of wine as well.”

“I didn’t know what type he’d like…” John spoke blankly, slightly ashamed. 

“Maybe he’s a whiskey man. Or maybe a gin and tonic. Why don’t you find out?” Greg headed back to the sofa, plopping himself back into his previous position. John groaned and was about to go over and punch the man on the arm, but there was a knock on the door.

“You expecting company?” John asked

“No, you?” He shook his head, and cautiously walked up to the door, swinging it open.

 

“Sherlock?” 

“Hi John.” The taller man smiled gently. He was wearing a purple button up, the top two buttons undone. It hugged his chest nicely, John noted as he scanned him up at down.

“Why are you here?” 

“I wanted to see you. Is Gerald in?” 

“Who?”

“Your roommate.”

“Greg, you mean?”

“Am here, mate!” He yelled from his position on the sofa, licking the crumbs off his index finger. “Don’t let me stop you two from seeing each other.” John looked back at him as he spoke, he had a shit-eating grin on his face, which resulted in John rolling his eyes.

“Would you like to go to my flat, then?”

“Sure, I guess. Let me just get my rucksack. Come on in- Greg, be nice.” John shuffled over to his room find his bag, packing his cigar box and laptop, cramming the box of cigarettes in there as well. As he left his room, he saw Sherlock standing stiffly near the sofa, talking to Greg. Greg was laughing, though Sherlock looked rightfully startled. John hooked his arm around the taller man’s own, and dragged him out the door.

“Sorry about him,” John spoke, letting go of Sherlock’s arm as they walked to the lift. “He’s a bit of a bellend from time to time, can’t be helped.”

“It’s quite alright. I wasn’t there to see him.”

“I figured as much. Why didn’t you just text me to come up?” He stepped into the elevator, followed by Sherlock.

“I was on my way back to my flat from the library, and I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. I did send you a message to let you know I was on my way.”

“Sorry, didn’t see it. Greg was being nosy.” John let out an awkward chuckle as he headed out the lift with Sherlock, as they both walked down to 221B. “Didn’t see you as much of a spontaneous planner, what brought this up?”

“I couldn’t wait until tonight.” Sherlock opened the door, and John walked in, setting his rucksack on the floor by the sofa.

“Well, in that case, what did you want to do?” The shorter man asked Sherlock, looking up at him expectantly.

“Can I be honest with that question?” 

“Sure, yeah.” John regretted the words the second they came out of his mouth.

“I hadn’t thought that far into the future.” John couldn’t help but laugh, hunching over, his shoulders shaking as he gasped for air.

“I have my laptop if you want to watch a movie or something.” John looked back up at the taller man. He was blushing, from what could only be slight embarrassment.

John opened his rucksack and pulled his laptop out, setting it on the coffee table.

“Oh, before I forget-” He spoke as he picked up the pack of cigarettes, tossing them in Sherlock’s direction. The taller man, though startled, caught them and raised an eyebrow.

“What are these for?”

“You. I saw you had one left yesterday. Cigs aren’t cheap, thought I’d pick you up a pair when I did my shopping.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock was smiling. John suddenly decided he liked his smile, even more when he was the reason why it happened.

 

* * *

 

 

“Right, so,” John sat down on the loveseat, turning his laptop on “Whatcha wanna watch?”

“I have no idea.” The taller man spoke as he sat down, glancing over at John’s laptop. John was closing his tabs from his writing, and opened up Netflix.

Sherlock placed his arms on the back of the sofa and crossed his right leg over his left as John said random movie titles that sounded interesting.

“Right ok, how about this one?” John pointed to a movie that he’d had on his list for a while.

“Sure.” Sherlock mumbled, leaning closer towards John to glance at the laptop screen.

John angled the screen in his lap so they could comfortably watch it, and the movie began. Whenever John glanced over at the taller man beside him, they made eye contact for a couple seconds before staring at the screen once again. John occasionally caught the taller man glancing in his direction when a particularly funny part happened, as if he was watching him laugh. 

About halfway through the movie, John decided to scoot a little closer the Sherlock. And a little closer. Sherlock uncrossed his legs, and then crossed them again. His fidgeting was a little distracting, but John couldn’t focus on the movie for the life of him.

“Hey,” John murmured, turning his head to look at the taller man. He was flushed, his eyes looking around the room. “Alright?” 

“Quite fine, thank you.”

“For someone who obsessed over snogging me, you sure do get flustered easily.” He teased, earning him a frown from Sherlock. The taller man scooted away, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, blowing the smoke upwards. 

“Brought my weed if you want to smoke again.” He was watching Sherlock smoke, suddenly finding himself very jealous of that cigarette. He wishes his mouth was there instead, kissing him. 

“Do you always carry it with you?” The taller man exhaled, his eyes fixated on John’s.

“Not usually, but I thought if we got bored we’d have a backup plan.”

“Are you even watching this movie, John? You’re not in a place to be complaining about being bored when this was, in fact, your idea.” Sherlock smirked, his eyes now looking at the blond man’s mouth.

“Should be asking you the same thing.” He licked his lips.

“Hmm, pity.” Sherlock leaned over with his cigarette-free hand and closed the laptop, taking it from John and placing it on the coffee table. John looked confused, that was until he looked over at the taller man putting out his cig and scooted a little bit closer.

“Quite bold of you to assume I’m kissing you after you smoked.”

“Should I go brush my teeth then?” He was getting closer, John could feel his breath. Sherlock placed his index finger under John’s chin, resting his thumb on the point, tilting him up as he sent tingles down John’s spine. There were those piercing blue eyes, staring right into his soul. 

“Fuck it.” John leaned in, closing the small gap between their lips. Sherlock’s lips were soft, a euphoric feeling.

It was just a peck, and Sherlock was the one to pull back. He looked the shorter man in the eyes, pupils wide.

“Do you know why we as humans evolved to kiss?” Sherlock spoke, only an inch away from John. The blond man could feel his breath against his lips as he spoke.

“ ‘Cause it feels nice?” Sherlock let out a sharp breath, stifling a laugh. He cupped John’s cheek, rubbing his thumb against the slight scruff that had begun to sprout.

“We’re driven to kiss in order to swap saliva, which in turn varies different bacteria and antibodies- thus creating a stronger body for a stronger baby. It’s ultimately hormonally driven, our brains say ‘baby’ and we comply.”

“Is this some weird way of you asking me to have your children?” It was John’s turn to laugh.

“Hm, might need to see how strong your bacteria makes mine first.” Sherlock smirked, and went in for another kiss. They were soft, angelic, even, for both men were too afraid to advance too far. It also happened to be one o’clock in the afternoon, not prime snogging time.

John had to pull back reluctantly, catching his breath. 

“Your mouth tastes like that seashell you have.” John mumbled, patting Sherlock’s cheek twice.

“Would you feel more comfortable if I brushed my teeth?” Sherlock looked a bit miffed, wishing the kiss had never ended.

“Either that or we share a cigarette. Then both of us will have horrific breath, won’t even notice it.”

“I suppose I could share one, I did just get a new pack.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Strange how things work out like that sometimes, isn’t it?” Sherlock smirked, reaching for the new pack, flicking his lighter, taking the first drag. He handed it to John, who took too-big off a hit, causing himself to sputter and cough.

“Forgot that’s not weed,” He wheezed “Went in too eager.”

“Here,” Sherlock took it from his hands, taking a long drag, before cupping John’s cheek. The shorter man opened his mouth and breathed in the smoke, tilting his head to exhale. “Lot easier that way.”

“Reckon I could get a nicotine high from all the lingering smoke alone.” John mumbled as he let out another cough.

“We could go to my bedroom, if you like,” John cocked an eyebrow as he spoke, “I have a balcony there, we could open the door and let some fresh air in. The windows in this room don’t open.”

“Didn’t realise we’d be going to your bed on date number three, I would’ve worn cuter pants.” John teased, standing up and picking his laptop up. The taller man stood up as well, cigarette between his lips, and led the way.

 

* * *

 

 

The room was a lot nicer than you’d expect a college student’s bedroom to be. The queen bed had a plush duvet, and the rich mahogany headboard matched his chest of drawers and wardrobe. The closet had no sliding doors, however, they looked like they had been taken off aggressively. The space had been used to store various experiment equipment, or at least that was what it looked like.

Sherlock unlocked his balcony door and opened it slightly, letting the cold London air seep through the room.

“Do you still have my jumper? ‘Ts a bit chillier than I expected.”

“Thought I was holding it for ransom.”

“Then do you have one  _ I  _ can hold for ransom?” Sherlock blinked, and then opened his wardrobe doors, pulling out a dark grey knit jumper.

“I never wear it, you’re more than welcome to hold onto it.” John slipped into it, pushing up the sleeves slightly so his hands were free.

“How do I look?”

“Breathtaking, though I did think our initial intentions were to put on less articles of clothing.” He smirked, taking a long drag on his cigarette before plopping on the bed, patting the spot next to him. John sat down next to him, facing him, cross-legged. Sherlock glanced over at him, and handed over the cigarette.

“How d’you smoke so many of these? The taste usually puts me off.” John spoke as he exhaled, tilting his head back.

“Addiction is a funny thing, John Watson.”

“Well yeah, but you had to get past the taste to begin with to get addicted.”

“A small sacrifice I had to make to get that sweet, sweet dopamine. The taste becomes welcoming, like an old friend.” Sherlock took John’s hand holding the cigarette, and took a hit.

“How intimate.” John murmured, as he took his own drag. “Where can I-”

“Here,” Sherlock took it from his hand and ashed it into an almost-empty glass of water, and John made a face “You’d be more grossed out if you accidentally tried to drink out of.”

“I take it you speak from personal experience?”

“I’m not perfect, John. Everybody makes mistakes, though mine just happen to be much more rare than yours.”

“Not my fault you’ve got a super computer for a brain.”

“Hmm, an interesting hypothesis.” He took another drag, and beckoned John to get closer. John leaned in, his mouth agape, and inhaled the smoke. Sherlock took this time to give him a gentle kiss on the lips, before pulling back to let the shorter man exhale.

“You hungry?” John spoke, breaking the silence that lingered after their shotgun kiss.

“Not at all, are you?”

“A bit, yeah. Skipped breakfast to go to the shops. But if you aren’t hungry we don’t have to go, I can eat when I go home.”

“How long are you planning to stay?”

“Dunno,” John shrugged “How long am I welcome?”

“As long as you’d like.” The taller man tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

“Won’t you get tired of me?” John teased

“Of you? Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly? writing sherlock hooked to cigarettes make me miss them  
> oh to be young and stealing them from my father again, now i gotta pay so is it even worth it


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me? writing smut? unheard of.

They spent the afternoon talking and laughing, alongside the occasional kiss. They ordered a pizza, and ate on the bed. When the clock struck ten o’clock, John didn’t want to leave, and Sherlock didn’t want him to go.

“You could always spend the night.” The taller man spoke, and John was convinced he heard the slightest whine in his voice.

“I think my back would give out if I sleep on your sofa again.”

“Who said anything about you sleeping on the sofa?”

“I’d have to wake up at 6AM to go down to my own flat and get ready.” John stood up, and picked his laptop off the nightstand.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, if you’re done sulking, I’m heading back to my flat,” He looked over at the sulking man with a grin, “Are you walking me back, or am I going to have to kiss myself goodnight?”

Sherlock did, in fact, walk John back to his flat. He even carried the shorter man’s rucksack. When they got to the door, John looked up at him with a soft grin.

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” He mumbled, wrapping his head around the taller man’s neck. He has to strain on his tippy-toes ever so slightly to reach his lips. 

“Goodnight, John.” Sherlock murmured in response, closing the distance between their lips. He placed his hands on John’s hips, deepening the kiss as his tongue danced over the shorter man’s lower lip.

John pulled away, a shudder going down his spine. He let out a single ‘ha’, and looked Sherlock in the eye. The taller man’s eyes were looking back in him, the glare was soft, if anyone could call a glare soft. Acting on impulse, he pulled Sherlock down again, meeting his lips against his own. The kisses were rough, intense. Sherlock pushed John against the door, his tongue creeping its way into the other’s mouth. The shorter man let out a moan, his hands going to grab at the dark brown curls of the other.

They suddenly stopped when a student walked past, and whistled at them, suddenly bringing them back to the reality of that they were in the middle of a hallway snogging.

“I’d invite you in but, Greg and my test-” John spoke, fumbling over his words. He noted the colour of Sherlock’s flushed cheeks, it suited the taller man.

“And if these were your initial intentions, you wouldn’t have left my flat.” Sherlock’s voice was deep, soothing.

“But kissing you is so  _ nice _ .”

“You said it yourself, John,” The taller man purred, placing a kiss on John’s neck, “This is a goodbye kiss.” He placed another kiss on the same spot, lingering for a moment before pulling back and walking off.

“At least text me when you get back safely?” John called out, sighing before unlocking the door. He shuffled to his room and face-planted on his bed, letting out a very loud groan. He cursed his maths teacher, his test, his needing to sleep. Everything that took him away from that moment. Sighing, he stood up and took his jeans off, tucking himself in, facing the ceiling. He pulled the neckline of the jumper Sherlock had given him, and breathed in the smell. It smelled of fabric softener, tobacco, and the faintest hint of mothballs. He fell asleep, fondly remembering the feeling of Sherlock’s lips against his own.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up to his alarm beeping at me, he bolted out of bed. He had the sudden realisation that not only had he clicked snooze three times, but he would be late if he didn’t hurry to class. He showered briskly, and changed into a different set of clothes. His laundry was piling up, and he took a note to do something about it soon. He glanced at Sherlock’s jumper he’d left on his bed during his shower, and slipped it on. John muttered his good-byes to Greg as he walked out the door, and down to Professor Robertson’s room. The professor drawled on about phones needing to be silenced; and as John did that, he saw a message Sherlock had sent him, causing him to grin.

 

_ Best of luck, John Watson. -SH _

 

The test somehow seemed more difficult than the study guide he had been given. The examples were the bare skeletons, and the ones he had been given to solve were a full body. He shifted in his seat as he finished, glancing up at the clock. He looked over at his professor, only to realise Sherlock’s deductions had been a little bit too accurate on the man. John stood up, handed in his test, and walked out. There was no reason for him to linger, but he didn’t want to be the first to turn it in. He fumbled with his phone in his jeans pocket and pulled it out, typing a message in response to Sherlock as he walked back to his flat. Those five words lingered in his head during the test, and had given him a subtle boost of confidence.

 

_ just finished my test. had some time to deduce on prof. robertsons as well. _

 

_ Do share, John. -SH _

 

_ he’s a MASSIVE git _

 

_ An excellent observation, I’ll have to remember that one. -SH _

 

_ you in class? _

 

_ Unfortunately so. -SH _

 

_ wanna meet me after at my place? :) _

 

_ Won’t Gavin mind? _

 

_ fuck greg i wanna see you _

 

John stared at the message he just sent, his heart racing. Was he too forward? It took Sherlock fifteen minutes to reply, and those fifteen minutes ate away at John.

 

_ Fuck Greg indeed. I’ll see you after class. -SH _

 

* * *

 

 

John spent the time before Sherlock came over to clean up the flat. There were beer cans and empty cups thrown around the place, and he suddenly felt like he had to make a lasting impression. He found himself sitting on the sofa with his laptop, frantically typing away about last night. His documents on his laptop were all over the place, maybe he’d make a blog one day and condense his feelings in one place, though nothing really interesting happened to him.

After about an hour of typing, there was a knock on the door. John bolted up, discarded his laptop and walked to the knock. He opened the door, trying to act like his heart wasn’t pounding. Sherlock stood in front of him, a smirk on his face.

“Hello John.” Sherlock walked in, taking his coat off and hanging it up

“Hiya, Sherlock, how was class?”

“Tedious, really.” He looked down at the shorter man, before placing a kiss on his cheek. John got a whiff of something… menthol-y.

“Are you wearing… mint cologne?” 

“No, why?”

“Something smells like menthol. But a medicinal menthol.”

“Ah,” Sherlock nodded once, and wiped his nose with a tissue he had found in his pocket. “That would be the Vaporub in my nose.”

“Are you sick? I’m not a doctor, but I don’t think it goes  _ in _ your nose.”

“No, our professor had us do it whilst we dissected the intestines of a rather large and constipated cow.”

“Smart idea,” John couldn’t help but chuckle “Did you wanna sit on the sofa or in my room?”

“Whatever works best for you, John.” The taller man was standing rather close to John, the doorway and coat rack was quite a tight fit.

“I don't…” John’s voice trailed off as he felt Sherlock’s hands glide over his hips “Mind.”

“The sofa _ is _ closer.”

“It’s practically right there.”

“Could save our energy wasted on those steps to your room on more  _ important  _ things.” Sherlock leaned over to whisper in the shorter man’s ears.

“I like that idea.” John mumbled, placing a kiss on Sherlock’s lips. He found himself walking towards Sherlock, forcing him to walk backwards as he toppled onto the sofa. The shorter man crawled on top of him, placing another kiss on his lips. 

A soft moan escaped Sherlock’s lips as John licked his lower lip, sliding his tongue in the taller man’s mouth. He dragged his teeth gently across Sherlock’s lower lip, sucking on it softly.

John pulled back to catch his breath, placing a wet kiss on Sherlock’s neck, trailing his tongue over the sensitive skin.

“Can I give you a love mark?” John whispered against the taller man’s skin.

“I’d be rather offended if you didn’t.” Sherlock spoke, panting.

John kissed a spot on Sherlock’s neck, just above his shirt collar. He swirled his tongue in a circle before biting down, and sucking gently. The sudden stimuli caused the taller man to buck his hips underneath, letting out a gasp of pleasure. John sucked and bit the spot on his neck, leaving a rather deep red bruise. He let out a satisfied hum, before making another.

“Hickies are very immature, John.” Sherlock whined, doing his best to not sound bothered.

“You seem to be enjoying them, though. Practically begged me to give you one.” He teased, biting down again, earning himself a well-deserved moan from Sherlock.

John pulled back to admire his handiwork, before glancing at Sherlock. He was breathing heavy, and his pupils were wide. They made eye contact before the taller man wrapped his arms around John’s neck and had him come crashing towards him for an open-mouthed kiss. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Sherlock muttered as John pulled back. The shorter man let out a laugh, before straightening his back and supporting his weight on his knees, putting himself in a pseudo-straddling position. He pulled his jumper and shirt off, and looked down at Sherlock. His fingers danced around the taller man’s buttons as he undid them slowly, revealing that pale skin John had been wishing to see. 

He trailed a finger over Sherlock’s stomach, swirling once around his navel. He liked watching the goosebumps form as he barely touched the skin. Before Sherlock could let out another complaint, John placed a kiss in the middle of his chest. He trailed the kisses up slowly back to his neck, admiring the work done previously. He placed a kiss on the taller man’s jawline, humming.

Suddenly, John froze.

“John what’s-” John cupped a hand over Sherlock’s mouth, cutting him off, as the front door swung open, followed by Greg. John crumpled himself on top of Sherlock, holding his breath. Maybe, just maybe, if they stayed hunched over, Greg would walk by and act like nothing was happening. He knew if Greg saw him in this situation, they wouldn't be able to look each other in the eye for months. Luckily, Greg wasn’t alone. John heard a woman’s laugh as they hushed over to Greg’s room. 

“It’s not even noon yet, the animal.” John spoke in a hushed voice, grinning at Sherlock. He removed his hand from the other’s mouth, placing another kiss on his lips. The kisses quickly picked up in pace, and John began trailing kisses down Sherlock’s chest.

“I’d love to see your skin covered in marks,” John murmured between kisses “From biting, scratching, and sucking. Your perfect pale skin all beat up because of me.”

“I do have a riding crop at my flat.” The taller man smirked, watching John kiss his chest. He let out a soft gasp of air as John licked over one of his nipples, his teeth barely grazing it. He swirled his tongue around it, before placing a very gentle kiss on it. 

Their passionate acts were abruptly halted by the sound of a woman moaning. John let out a groan and looked down at Sherlock. They both burst into silent giggles, both not in the mood to continue.

“Something about hearing a stranger moan whilst getting piped by your roommate can  _ really  _ kill an erection.” John spoke, clambering off of Sherlock like an awkward horse.

“We could always kill his.” The taller man spoke, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You’re absolutely wicked, you know that?” He flashed Sherlock a grin and held out his hand, before dragging the taller man into his room.

He closed the door behind them, and looked over at Sherlock.

“Are you sure you-” John began to speak, before he was cut off by Sherlock pushing him against the wall that would no doubt be next to Greg’s room. Sherlock placed kisses on his neck, nipping and licking.

“Be loud,” Sherlock muttered against his skin in between kisses “Put on a show for them. For me.”

John moaned, not holding back. The taller man’s thigh was in between his legs, resting just below his very clear erection. His hips bucked ever so slightly, as his arousal asked for attention, his brain screaming with lust.

“Fuck, Sherlock.” John called out, a little louder than he cared to admit. The taller man looked him in the eye, his glare unforgettable. 

“Is this okay?” He whispered, his hands nearing the other’s zipper. John nodded, biting his lower lip. Sherlock swiftly undid his fly and button of his jeans, slipping his hand under the cloth of his pants.

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you,” The taller man purred in John’s ear, earning himself a moan  “That I’d have you like this. You’d be writhing and shaking just from my touch. I went home that night and thought about you like this, begging me to let you orgasm.”

John squeezed his eyes shut tight, a moan leaving his lips yet again. He gasped loudly as the taller man licked his neck, biting a sensitive spot.

“Do you have any lubricant?” Sherlock whispered in the other’s ear once again, his voice flowing like honey.

“Shit.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then? You should have told me, I would’ve bought us some.”

“Didn’t think we’d be fucking already, Sherlock.”

“Are you complaining?” The taller man teased, kissing him on the lips as he continued to work his hand in the other’s pants. 

John moaned into the kiss, trying to shimmey out of his jeans as his mouth was occupied. Focusing on what to do with your tongue and how to pull your clothes off was never his strong suit, but he managed in the end. His trousers lay in the midst of his thigh, giving Sherlock much easier access to continue his handiwork.

Suddenly, they both froze as there was a rather loud knock on the other side of the wall, followed by some muffled speaking the two couldn’t make out.

Sherlock, suppressing a chuckle, knocked right back with his free hand and kept on going.

The knocking got louder, but it only made John moan louder. By the time the shorter man finished, he was hunched over with giggles.

“I can’t believe we did that.” He spoke, out of breath. He looked up at Sherlock with a toothy grin. He pulled the taller man down by the neck, placing a kiss on his lips. His hands trailed slowly down Sherlock’s front, lingering just below his belly button.

“You are quite a tease, John Watson.” Sherlock murmured. Without a word, John sank to his knees, causing the taller man’s eyes to widen.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its a little short this time, im afraid!

“This was unexpected.” Sherlock spoke, spread out on John’s bed, coming down from his orgasm. They were both in their pants, half-asleep, their limbs entangled as they caught their breath.

“Just a bit, yeah.” John murmured, cuddling up to the taller man. The air was heavy around them and smelt of sex and sweat. Sherlock hesitantly put his arm around John, pulling him closer. John felt his fingers swirling around his skin, tracing shapes and swirls.

“Would you like to elaborate on why you have a pile on lumber in the corner of your room?”

“You’re the genius, you figure it out,” John spoke, then back-pedaled, “That came out a bit harsher than intended. Sorry. Greg broke it.”

“Your roommate is an interesting character. You two seem to clash.”

“Well, him and Mike were my best mates in sixth form. Mike’s got a girlfriend though, they’re pretty serious- otherwise it’d be the three of us sharing a flat. He’s a good person, really.”

“He’s lashing out with one night stands and alcohol because the love he feels towards his crush is unrequited.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if that was the case,” John placed a kiss on Sherlock’s chest as the taller man let out a soft hum. “It’s also university, he’s finally a free man. I think the power’s going to his head.”

“Hm, quite.” Sherlock closed his eyes, thinking. They sat there in silence, half-asleep. 

“Are you hungry?” Joke spoke finally, breaking the silence. “I make a wicked cheese toastie.”

Sherlock opened one eye, and peered over. He was smiling, which made John’s heart flutter.

“I would love one, John.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock leaned against the counter, wearing his trousers and his shirt unbuttoned, as John fiddled around with the cooker. 

“Can I get you a cuppa or anything? Our kettle is broken but I can always use our coffee maker to boil the water.” John spoke. He was still in his pants, though decided to put on Sherlock’s jumper.

“I can do that, if you’d like. You’re going to need full concentration if you’ll be successful in making those cheese toasties.” Sherlock was smirking as he filled the coffee maker up, dumping the filter out. He flicked the switch, and watched the water pour through. 

Sherlock stood behind John, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s waist. He rested his chin on the other’s shoulder, hunched over as he watched what he was doing. He was mumbling words in John’s ear, his voice barely audible.

Their soft moment was cut off by a very loud cough. Sherlock stood up and looked up, making eye contact with Greg.

“Hiya Greg.” John spoke, not looking up, taking his toastie creation out of the cooker, and placing them on their plates.

“Hey John, and…” Greg was staring at the taller man, eyeing his neck where the love marks were.

“Sherlock.”

“Right, yeah. Serial killer from the library.”

“The very same.” Sherlock’s eyes glazed over John’s roommate, taking in bits and pieces of information about him. 

The tension surrounding the three of them was thick, and made John anxious. He began fiddling with the tea bag string he was placing in Sherlock’s mug, focusing on the hot water pouring.

“Milk, sugar?” John asked, opening the fridge.

“Milk and two, please.” Sherlock spoke, glancing over at John as he bent over for the milk.

“Not very subtle are you, eh?” Greg was trying not to laugh.

“Where’s the fun in being subtle, Gregson?” Sherlock smirked, watching his as cheeks flushed in embarrassment. 

“It’s just Greg,” He mumbled, opening the cupboard and grabbing a cup, filling it with tap water. “Oh John, Mike and Gracie are comin’ over tonight at eight if you two aren’t gonna be ahem-  _ busy _ . Mike misses you.”

“Yeah, ‘course I’ll be there. I’ll be back from the library at ten, let them know I’ll be late.” Greg nodded, and John beckoned to Sherlock for him to follow him back to his room.

 

They sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other as they ate their lunch, their knees touching.

“I never got the chance to ask you how your maths exam went.”

“Mm,” John spoke, wiping the corner of his mouth “Alright, I guess. Got a bit stuck with this one that had eighths, but other than that, I felt ok. Not sure if it was just ignorance though, could’ve easily done everything wrong.”

“I’m sure that’s rather exaggerated.”

“You never know, Sherlock, you never know. How’d the dissection go? You in anatomy?”

“Physiology, actually.” 

“Right, gotcha. So, forensics, physiology, chemistry. What degree are you even after?”

“Haven’t the foggiest.” Sherlock spoke, which caused John to grin a little bit bigger than he’d like to admit.

 

After they ate their lunch, Sherlock checked his mobile and frowned.

“I have to run to the shops to pick up some things, would you care to join me?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Right now?” Sherlock nodded in response. John stood up and picked up his discarded jeans, hopping into them. The taller man did his buttons up and ran a hand through his hair.

“Do you have a bathroom I can freshen up in?”

“Yeah, it’s the door right across from mine. Either that or you’ll open our airing cupboard.” John sat down on the bed, putting his shoes on. Sherlock walked out, following John’s instructions. The shorter man grabbed his wallet and stuck it in his front pocket, and waited in the living room for Sherlock to come out of the room.

“He did a number on you, didn’t he?” Greg spoke, glancing over at him from the sofa, his eyes on John’s neck.

“Is it that bad?” John rubbed his neck with his hand, laughing nervously.

“You look like a pissing giraffe.” Greg was laughing as well, nodding at Sherlock when he appeared out of the bathroom 

“We’re going into town, need anything?” John asked, grabbing his keys as Sherlock put his coat on. Greg shook his head, and the two walked out the front door together.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where we headed?” John asked as they walked into town. They walked close, their hands grazed against each other occasionally, causing the shorter man's heart to skip a beat.

“Boots.”

“Out of paracetamol or something?”

“Not quite. I’m about to let you in on a secret, a secret virtually nobody knows about me. Can I trust you to keep it safe?” Sherlock spoke as he opened the door for John

“I- I guess? What kind of secret would you be hiding in the chemist?”

Sherlock didn’t answer, he only walked up to the optometrist office and said he had an order to be picked up. He received his items, contacts and a pair of glasses, and looked over at John as they left the building.

“I know, it’s a huge shock. I’m sorry you had to find out this way-”

“You’d think I’d be shocked that you need glasses?”

“Are you not?”

“I mean, I didn’t know? I’m not going to stop seeing you because you’ve got shoddy eyesight. What kind of-” He froze thinking of the right word. Friend seemed too informal, though boyfriend was out of the question. “What kind of person would I be for disliking something about you that you can’t control?”

“It’s rather that I don’t like people knowing I have a weakness. I have three, and now you know one of them. Two if you’re observant, though that is very unlikely.” 

“Right, now I’ll  _ definitely _ sell you out to a serial killer who’s after tall, handsome uni students and let him know you have shit eyesight.”

“I know that should be a threat, John Watson, but you’re only fueling my ego.” The taller man winked at him, and headed across the street, causing John to pick up his walking pace to keep up.

 

They spent the bleary afternoon walking around shops in London. John bought them coffees from the nearby cafe as they walked around. He felt glad he had something to do with hands, though whenever Sherlock’s hands grazed past his, he had to fight every urge to take it in his own. It wasn’t until it was nearing dusk that John had to head back to campus

“Hey uh, I have to go to the library real soon, sorry to cut this short.” 

“Of course.” Sherlock nodded as he turned around and led the two home. When the campus was in sight, John suddenly felt his heart sink. He didn’t want Sherlock to leave, he rather enjoyed the days they spent together so far. It all happened so quick, but he liked it that way. 

As the taller man opened the door for John to the library, he looked up at him. He flashed a grin as they stood in the doorway, before John quickly grabbed his hand and placed a kiss on the palm.

“Save it for later, yeah?” John spoke quietly, before turning around and heading to the room behind the front desk. When he left the room with one of the trolleys, Sherlock was gone. He didn’t know what to expect, really. All he knew was that he was going to miss the brooding, mysterious man a lot more than he had ever anticipated.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lov writing a uni au where they're hardly in uni  
> this one's a little short sorry

The library work was mundane, and John wished he could find a more exciting job, maybe in the city. He hummed along quietly to the music playing in his ear as he put books away, and when the clock struck ten, he was off. He checked his phone to find a message from Greg.

 

_ still coming? we’re at Mike’s. _

 

_ be right there! save me a beer, yeah? _

 

He hurried back to the Baker building, up to floor 644C. He knocked, and was greeted by Mike, a huge smile plastered on his face. They shook hands, and John walked in. The three of them sat at the table, drinking beer and playing poker with pennies. Beer turned to mixed drinks which turned to shots, and John found himself a  _ little _ bit pissed. The room felt warm, comfortable as their laughter filled the space, trying to have a coherent conversation with each other whilst very very sloshed. They ended up giving up on poker, the cards with all the shapes and numbers seemed to blur into one another, making it impossible to play.

“Should prob’ly get back,” John muttered. He was laying on Mike’s sofa, looking up at the ceiling. His head felt heavy, and he didn’t feel like carrying his own weight. “Dunno if I’ll make it. Might live here now.”

“Come on, mate.” Greg spoke, chuckling as he helped John stand up. They headed back to their room, full of laughter and shaky walking. John collapsed on the sofa, face first, after they spent too long trying to unlock their door.

“Headed to bed, ‘night John.” Greg spoke, sauntering to his room. John groaned in response, and rolled over so lay on his side, facing the sofa cushions. He fiddled with his phone, opening up a contact listed as ‘Sherlock’

 

* * *

 

_ heey _

 

_ Hello, John -SH _

 

_ whats upp cutie? _

 

_ You’re drunk. -SH _

 

_ an excelent deductiom _

_ ur like _

_ a sexy albert einstein _

 

_ Thank you? -SH _

_ Is there any specific reason you’re inebriated on a Monday night? -SH _

 

_ mike wamted to party n it wouldv been real fuckign rude to say no _

 

_ I suppose. Is there any specific reason you decided to text me, other than to tell me you’re wasted? -SH _

 

_ i never got to say thnks _

 

_ For? -SH _

 

_ makin me feel good _

 

_ Are you referring to the orgasm? That is hardly an act worth thanking me for. -SH _

 

_ no you dummy. i meant in general  _

_ you make me feel hapty _

 

_ You make me feel happy as well, John Watson, though this might be a conversation we should continue when you are sober. -SH _

 

_ puh  _

_ boringgg _

 

_ I’ll talk to you in the morning, John. You’ll need your rest for chemistry tomorrow afternoon. -SH _

 

_ fuck that _

 

* * *

 

In was in this point in time where John decided to phone Sherlock. He rolled onto his back, resting his head on the arm of the sofa, as he listened to the phone ringing.

“Hello John.” The voice spoke on the other end, and John grinned.

“Oh fuck you actually answered,” John’s words slurred “Hey Sherlock!”

“Is everything alright?”

“Mm, yeah, now that I can hear your voice.” 

“I’m flattered. However, is that the only reason you called me?”

“Nah, wanted to ask you out on a date.”

“John… I worry you’re making rash decisions due to your intoxication.”

“Just say no if you don’t like me, then.” There was a pause in the conversation, and John debating hanging up and acting like he never met the man.

“It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s that I fear you don’t like me.”

“Ha!” John let out a laugh, then shushed himself, remembering Greg was asleep down the hall. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Your sharp lil cheekbones and sexy sexy eyes haunt me in my dreams. But in a good way you know? Can’t get you out of my head. Nearly shot myself in the leg when I got to the library because I didn’t try to hold your hand in town.”

“I’m not familiar with relationships, John.”

“Not asking you to be my boyfriend, knob.”

“Then what  _ are _ you trying to ask?”

“If you wanna go out on a date! Like a proper one, no weed, no Netflix. We could get dinner, see a movie-”

“John.”

“You really don’t like me, do you? I can hang up if I’m annoying you.” A wave of emotion suddenly crashed over John, making him feel very small.

“I would love to go on a date with you. However, if we make plans with your current levels of drunkenness, you will most likely forget we ever made them.”

“I’ll let sober John know you said yes.” He was grinning as he heard Sherlock let out a sigh. After that, there was silence. The two men just stayed on the phone, and John nearly fell asleep.

“Is that everything you wanted to talk about?” Sherlock spoke, finally breaking the silence.

“Think so. Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s quite fine. I do enjoy speaking to you, though alcohol makes you more of an idiot than usual.”

“Git…” John mumbled “I’m gonna go to bed now, ok?”

“Good night, John.”

“Dream of me.” He spoke in almost a whisper before hanging up. He let out a sigh, and shut his eyes, falling asleep on the sofa.

 

* * *

 

 

When he woke in the late morning, his body was screaming with regret. His stomach felt sour, and a very uncomfortable crick in his neck right in the middle, making it hard for him to turn his head. He groaned, sitting upright and stretched, before finding an aspirin tablet to dissolve. He made himself some toast before hopping in the shower, hoping the warm water would help soothe his aching muscles after sleeping on such an uncomfortable sofa.

As he sat on his bed, charging his phone, he went through his contacts to see if he needed to do any damage control. He smiled, seeing a message from Sherlock.

 

_ Sorry for the confusion last night, though it was your own fault and I needn’t apologise. Call it a courtesy apology. I’d like to take you out to dinner, how does Friday at 8pm sound? I know a wonderful Italian restaurant we can go to. -SH _

 

_ thanks for putting up with drunk me _

_ friday sounds great but does that mean i have to wait ‘til then to see you again? _

 

_ If you wish, then yes. -SH _

_ However, that would be quite upsetting, at least for me. -SH _

 

_ contrary to popular belief i enjoy hanging out with you quite a lot _

 

_ The feeling is mutual, John. -SH _

 

_ see you in chem? _

 

_ Indeed you shall. -SH _

 

John suddenly felt a lot better, given the circumstances. His body was still unhappy, but the thought of seeing Sherlock made him feel euphoric. As he left his flat, he found himself humming a soft little tune to himself. As he hopped in the lift, from 5 to G, it stopped on floor two. Who else than the taller man that’d plagued John’s mind to walk in?

 

“Morning Sherlock.” John spoke, biting his lower lip slightly to stop himself from grinning.

“Hello John.” Though his expression was blank, his eyes looked soft and welcomed John. The taller man stood close to Sherlock, though they were the only two there. John looked over at him and smiled softly.

“Sorry about last night, I know I already apologised, but I thought I’d say it in person too.”

“It’s more than alright. If it took you being intoxicated to get you to ask me out, so be it.”

“They call it liquid courage, don’t they?”

“They do indeed.” The taller man looked over at him and smiled, before the door opened and they walked out the lift, across to the campus.

The walk was brief and silent, though they enjoyed the time together. They sat down in their respective seats, and Sherlock looked up at John.

“Could I borrow a pen?”

“You really should get your own.” John mumbled, handing over the usual biro.

“But this pen in particular is much nicer than the ones I own.”

“You don’t even need a pen?”

“Well, I need  _ your _ pen.” He was looking at John, the corner of his mouth turned upwards into a somewhat smirk.

“Keep it, then.” John grinned back at him, before turning his head towards the professor. The professor was going on about a certain experiment they’d be dealing with next time they met, and the certain risks and rules they’d have to research. John, quite bored, glanced over at Sherlock only to see him looking right back at him. They kept their eye contact, and John had to suppress his laughter at the taller man’s reactions to what the professor had been saying.

As they waited for the class to end, Sherlock went to hand John his pen back, but the shorter man shook his head.

“I was serious about you keeping the pen, mate.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why’s that then? It's just a biro.”

“It’s your biro, John.”

“Well, now it’s yours.”

“Fine.” Sherlock sounded defeated, though he was definitely grinning. He huffed as he put it in his pocket, looking at the table.

“So where you headed next?”

“Maths, and you?”

“English Studies.”

“We could always skip, head back to my flat. I’m sure you have a number of a classmate who could fill you in. Our time got cut short yesterday.”

“Someone’s a bit randy isn’t he?” 

“A tad.”

“My mummy told me not to let boys get in the way of my education.” John teased, standing up as class was dismissed.

“Is that a no, then?” Sherlock spoke as they walked out of the classroom together.

“Of course it’s not a no.”

“Your double negatives are lowering my IQ.” John rolled his eyes, motioning the taller man to follow him as he walked in the opposite direction of their classes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like ok i know theyve known each other for a WEEK but like   
> cmon u think i wanna write them moping abt not seeing the other?
> 
> also if any of u think im making sherlock a druggie THERES the door  
> well i might   
> but not this fic.  
> do i have an idea for a sequel already? possibly.  
> john *does* need to go to afghanistan after all :/


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's shorter than usual, ive had a rough couple of days, sulking and brooding in my room ab being sad. blah blah boring boring   
> no matter, im off tomorrow and plan on writing more, so the update may be sooner than you think.
> 
> plus i cant sleep so ive been writing this instead :-)

“If we keep hanging out day after day we’re going to get sick of each other, Sherlock.” John mumbled as they waited for the lift.

“That’s a bold claim, John.”

“I met you less a week ago and we’re already ditching class to shag.” He mumbled, stepping into the lift and hitting the button labelled ‘2’ as the strangely robotic voice of the lift spoke.

“I get bored easily, John. Very easily, in fact. If I wasn’t interested I wouldn’t insist on seeing you daily.”

‘Level Two. Doors opening.’ The lady, if you could call it that, spoke from the speakers.

“What makes me so special, then?” John asked as they walked out of the lift. Sherlock looked over at him, rather puzzled.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock spoke after a moment of silence.

“Thought you knew everything.” The taller man pursed his lips, and fiddled with his keys, unlocking the door to his flat.

“Maybe that’s why I like spending time with you. My own little enigma.”

“It’s not my dashing good looks then, eh?”

“That could be a part of it, don’t sell yourself short.” Sherlock smirked as they walked into the flat. John looked at Sherlock, and Sherlock looked at John. For a moment, time stood still. Either that, or the awkward silence around them felt a lot heavier than they had expected.

“Right, so.” John spoke, not really sure what was happening.

“So.”

“Right.”

“Yes, ok. Right.” 

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?” The taller man spoke, clearing his throat.

“Can I kiss you?”

“How… formal of you.” He shrugged his coat off, hanging it on the hook by the door. They hadn’t moved, neither of them knew where to go, exactly.

“Either that or we stand here for hours on end, awkwardly looking at each other.” John mumbled, his hands sliding up Sherlock’s chest to wrap around his neck.

“Shame, I’d quite enjoy the view.” The taller man mumbled, closing the gap between their lips. The kisses were soft, delicate even. It felt… intimate. Their past experiences had been driven by lust, their hormone-driven brains craving nothing more than human contact, not minding who it was from. But this time, it felt like infatuation, and John wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Not yet, at least. 

Joke broke away from the kiss, looking up at Sherlock with a soft smile.

“Is something wrong?” Sherlock spoke, frowning slightly as his eyes scanned John’s face.

“No, why?”

“Your pupils are dilated, and I can practically hear your heart racing.”

“And why, oh great Sherlock Holmes,” John whispered, stroking a thumb over the nape of the taller man’s neck “Is that a bad thing?”

“Can I get you a cup of tea?” Sherlock blurted out, scooting away from John all too quickly, walking over to the kitchen.

“Er… sure, yeah. That’d be great, actually.” John, though startled, followed the taller man to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, his arms crossed across his chest, as he watched Sherlock fuss over the electric kettle.

“Do you know why we cry when we cut onions?” Sherlock spoke after a moment of silence. John shook his head in response.

“It’s a defense mechanism that the plant evolved to have. When the cells are chopped or split, it releases a chemical called syn-propanethial-S-oxide after the Lachrymatory-factor synthase mixes with the air and creates sulfenic acid, which then turns in syn-propanethial-S-oxide. This is an eye irritant, causing our lachrymal glands to react, which causes crying and irritation.” The taller man was looking at the mismatched mugs he’d taken out. One was a navy blue, the other a pale cream with a chip on the lip.

“Right, is there any reason you’re telling me this?” John chewed at the bottom of his lip, frowning.

“You’re an onion.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re having a chemical reaction that is in turn, causing me to have one as well.”

“Am I making you cry?” John looked utterly confused, as the taller man began pouring the hot water into the two mugs.

“No, don’t be daft. Norepinephrine, your hands are sweating and your heart is beating fast. Dopamine, the sudden urge to be… intimate, which in turn, turns into oxytocin, or as they call it these days, the cuddle hormone.”

“Sherlock.”

“Yes?” He looked rather panicked, and John couldn’t help but smile.

“I fancy you too.”

“Oh. Right, yes. Good, no. Excellent. I knew that, actually. Of course. Very observant.”

“You’re talking a mile a minute, Sherlock. Take a breather.” John let out a soft chuckle “Do you have any milk for our tea?”

The taller man nodded, and opened the fridge. John’s curiosity took over him and he peeked in.

“Are those organs in the vegetable drawer? Or just really mushy rhubarb?” The shorter man spoke as Sherlock poured the milk, adding two sugars to his own.

“Of course it’s organs, where else would I keep them? How many?” He waggled the spoon in the air, his back facing John.

“One, ta. And I dunno, maybe a place that  _ didn’t _ have food and drink you were planning on consuming.”

“The vegetable drawer is the furthest away, the coldest, and the most controlled environment for my experiments.” He turned around, handing the navy mug to John

“Makes sense.” John mumbled, and wandered over to the sofa with Sherlock, where they both sat down. The blond man got a better look at the man sitting next to him. His cheeks were tinged pink ever so slightly, and his eyes were moving around in circles, focusing on different elements of the room.

“If you feel uncomfortable, I can leave.” John mumbled after the silence had finally settled, the only noise being heard was the soft sipping of tea. 

“No no, that won’t be necessary.” 

“Why’d you panic earlier when we were kissing? Did my breath taste funny?”

“Of course not, I was merely trying to think up every single possible outcome we’d have after the conversation with the onions. The shagging remark threw me off, and I thought you’d run out laughing.”

“Wait, I made a joke about shagging, which you took seriously,  _ and _ you thought up this onion thing in advance?”

“Of course, why would I not?”

“You’re a nutter, Sherlock. An absolute madman.” John shook his head, laughing.

“Would you have me any other way?”

“ ‘Course I wouldn’t.”

“Good that’s… Good.”

“Great, even.” John raised his eyebrows as he took a sip of his scalding tea. He set it down next to Sherlock’s on the coffee table, looking over at the taller man with a soft smile.

“John.”

“Sherlock.”

“I’d like to kiss you.” He scooted closer, his lips inching towards John’s.

“By all means.” John mumbled right before their lips touched, filling the distance between them.

John found himself lying down vertically on the sofa, as the taller man crawled on top of him, placing hot kisses onto his lips.

Sherlock stifled a moan as John grazed his teeth across the taller man’s lower lip, sucking on it gently.

“You’re going to be the death of me, John.” Sherlock muttered as he trailed kisses down the shorter man’s neck.

“What a way to go, eh?” He whined in response, bucking his hips. He let out a sudden gasp as he felt Sherlock’s teeth sink into his neck, biting down and sucking. His breath hitched as the taller man placed a soft kiss on the tender skin, swirling his tongue around the indents his teeth had made. 

“Are you alright, John?” Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side, sitting upright, his knees sandwiching John’s thighs together. John opened his mouth to speak, but nothing but a gasp left his lips. Sherlock’s hand was on his crotch, as he stroked his thumb over the growing bulge softly. The shorter man could only nod, biting his lip as he tried in vain to buck his hips into the hand touching him so gently.

“Onions to orgasms, eh?” John spoke, looking up at the ceiling, trying to think straight.

“You do have a way with words, John Watson.” Sherlock leaned down to whisper in his ear, placing a kiss just below the lobe.

“Hypocrite.” The shorter man spoke, before Sherlock’s lips came crashing on his own. Their tongues were dancing, as they explored each other’s mouths.

After a moment, Sherlock pulled back, looking John in the eye.

“Are you alright if we don’t have sex today, John?” The taller man looked rather flustered, though his glare could cut right through you.

“Y-yeah, ‘course, not a problem. Might take me a minute to calm down my er…” 

“Of course, mine as well. I just think given our recent discussion over shallots, we should consider a more intimate approach to our first time, rather than rutting it on the sofa.”

“What makes that any different to the time you had me pinned to the wall?” John hummed, placing his hand on the taller man’s cheek, letting out a soft sigh.

“It feels different now. I don’t usually get attached, I feel I should let you know. But these past six days, your blond hair and eyes haven’t been able to escape my head, no matter the distraction. You’ve learned my darkest secret, and I’d like to get to know you. Well, more than I don’t already know.”

“You needing glasses simply can  _ not _ be your darkest secret, you absolute nutter.”

“I’d like our first time to be perfect, we musn’t even think about sex when I’m not wearing my contacts. If I miss any detail from your facial expression I’ll go absolutely mad.”

“That’s a pretty high bar, Holmes.” John mumbled, letting his hands trail above the taller man’s waist, giving him an awkward open-aired hug before he laid on top of John, sighing. 

“Thank you for understanding.” Sherlock muttered into John’s neck, his face warm against the other’s skin.

“Thank you for calling me an onion.” The shorter man spoke softly in response, a sentence he never knew he'd need to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda proud how i wrote sherlock in this one tbh  
> poor dear doesnt understand affection and we love him for it 
> 
> i love  
> clenches fist  
> making my boys be dumb awkward idiots it gives me Strength


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would apologise to any saxophone player but you lot had this coming  
> also this is 99% dialouge im not sorry let my boys CONVERSE

“So,” John spoke after a moment of silence. They’d resulted to holding each other on the sofa, enjoying the closeness. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Really? Of all the questions you’d like to ask, you go with my favourite colour?” Sherlock mumbled

“Just dipping my toe in, mate. Would you rather I ask what your favourite organ is?”

“The appendix.”

“And if an appendix was, say, your favourite colour, what would that be?”

“Indigo.” The taller man spoke after a moment of thinking.

“Yeah? Mine would be a yellow kidney.”

“Yellow?” Sherlock sat up, and frowned at John.

“Yeah, it’s a nice colour. My favourite, in fact.”

“I thought it was green.”

“Well, you thought incorrectly.” He was chuckling, though Sherlock looked rather offended.

“I’m never wrong.” He huffed, untangling himself from John and stood up, pacing the room.

“Sherlock, as much as I’d like to compliment your genius brain right now, I think I would know my favourite colour better than you.” 

“Is it a greeny shade of yellow at least?” 

“Guess you’d call it a mustard yellow? Hey, mustard greens are uh, well, green. You’re kinda there, I guess? Where’d you even get green from?”

“Not important.”

“Are you done having a hissy fit over not knowing something so superficial about me?” John was grinning up at the taller man, watching him stop and stare back at him.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You’re allowed to be wrong. Where’s the point in having a conversation with you if you know everything about me anyway?” John patted the sofa cushion next to him, and Sherlock reluctantly sat back down.

“Your turn.” John spoke again, looking over at Sherlock.

“I’m sorry?”

“Ask a question, Sherlock.”

“Would you feel more morally corrupt if you had to eat someone else’s flesh as opposed to your own?” 

“Is this some weird way you’re telling me you’re a cannibal?” John blinked.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. If I were trying to eat you, why would I insist on being so nice?”

“You could be brainwashing me. It’d explain the organs in the vegetable drawer as well. And you do enjoy biting me.” John picked up his lukewarm mug of tea, sipping it again.

“You also enjoy me biting you, John. I would like to run an experiment on bite marks, maybe you’d be able to help me.” Sherlock ran his tongue over his teeth, winking at the shorter man, causing John to choke on his tea slightly.

“Thought we were waiting to have sex.” John mumbled, looking down in his mug. His cheeks were bright red at the thought of Sherlock having his way with him.

“Who said anything about sex? Unless you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back, which is understandable given your given reaction to the topic.”

“Look, I’ll gladly help you live out your vampiric fantasy but I might explode if we try it today. Still a bit riled up, you know.” Sherlock smirked at his response, picking up his own mug and taking a gulp.

“I believe it’s your turn to ask a question.” Sherlock spoke, setting his mug down again.

“Hm,” John ran a hand through his hair, making his hair stand up a little bit “What do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” Sherlock looked rather confused, as if he’d never heard the word  _ fun  _ before.

“Yeah, any hobbies? Interests?”

“I play the violin, would that be considered a hobby?”

“Mhm! That’s pretty neat, actually. How long have you been playing?”

“Twelve or so years.”

“Don’t mean to brag but I played the clarinet for two years,” John looked smug, resulting in a rather offended Sherlock “Could I hear you play some time?”

“Only if you dust off your clarinet and serenade me as well.”

“Don’t want to intimidate you with my  _ immaculate _ playing, might never be able to one up me.” John beamed at Sherlock, who in turn, smiled back.  

“Can I ask why the clarinet?” The taller man spoke after a moment of silence.

“I wish I knew, it was a shite decision. Horrid instrument, super squeaky. I thought I’d look quite cool, but turns out dribbling on the floor while you try to play arpeggios isn’t that attractive.”

“If you were after attractive, you should’ve gone for the alto saxophone.”

“Yeah? That a sexy instrument?”

“Of course not, but it’s so horrendously loud you can’t lose anyone’s attention, forcing them to fall in love with you.” John snorted, resulting in a startled cough-laugh fit.

“You’ll be the death of me, Sherlock Holmes.” The shorter man spoke after catching his breath, who in turn leaned over and placed a kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. The taller man blinked, his cheeks tinged pink and mumbled something under his breath.

“Sorry?” John spoke, raising an eyebrow

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Right, ok. Believe it’s your turn to ask a question.”

“Can I kiss you again?”

“Hmm, let me think…” John set his now empty mug down and scooted closer to Sherlock, cocking his head to the side 

“You’re taking a rather long time to come to a simple conclusion, John.” Sherlock mumbled, placing his hand on the other’s cheek.

“Maybe I’ll leave you in suspense.” He felt Sherlock inching closer, itching to seal the gap between their lips.

“Looks like you might be the death of me then, John Watson.” The taller man spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe so, Sherlock Holmes.” John whispered in response before placing his lips onto Sherlock’s.

Their kisses were tender and sweet, which made John’s heart flutter. The kisses were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Are you expecting company?” John mumbled, pulling back from the kiss as the stranger knocked again.

“Could you be a dear and answer it for me?” Sherlock asked. He looked rather annoyed, John noted. He nodded and stood up, answering the door.

“Hello?”

“You’re not Sherlock.” The man on the other side spoke, frowning. He was wearing a three-piece suit, and had an umbrella under his arm.

“A  _ brilliant _ observation. Look, mate, if you’re here to preach about your religion-”

“I’d like to speak to Sherlock, please.” 

“Why?” 

“Hasn’t he told you about me?”

“Could ask him, if you like,” John turned his head to look at the taller man on the sofa “Have you told me about any twats in ill-fitting suits?”

“I don’t think so, John. Best close the door, he sounds positively insane.” Sherlock called out, a wicked grin on his face.

“You heard the man, toodles!” John looked back at the man with a sickenly sweet smile and slammed the door. However, it didn’t shut. The man’s shoe had acted like a weird door stopper, and John looked down at it, perplexed.

“Do you mind moving that?” John asked, still staring at the foot “Be a great help, really.”

Before John could do anything about it, the door was swung open, nearly knocking him off his feet. The stranger had barged his way in, and walked right up to Sherlock. John stood by the open door, perplexed. 

“Should I go?” John asked, looking at the two men in the living

“No, that won’t be-” Sherlock began, though the taller man in front of him cut him off.

“Yes, please leave. I’m sure my little brother will text you to complain the second I’m gone. You won’t miss much.” He smiled an obviously fake smile and John gathered up his things and left back to his flat in a huff.

 

* * *

 

_ I’d like to apologise for our rude interruption. Mycroft is incompitent, as always. -SH _

 

_ no wonder you stole a rug from him. what kind of name is mycroft anyway? i thought sherlock was a stretch.  _

 

_ They’re olden English surnames. Needless to say, our parents were a little too creative. -SH _

 

_ better than john though _

_ one third of english men in the 1600s were called john, fun fact _

 

_ You’re the most interesting John I’ve had the pleasure to meet, if that’s any comfort. -SH _

 

_ i feel honoured  _

_ i should add you’re the most interesting sherlock ive ever met. _

 

_ And the only, no less. -SH _

 

_ doesn’t make you any less special, numpty ;) _

 

* * *

 

John was laying on the sofa as he texted Sherlock, chewing at the hangnail he had on his thumb. His heart rate seemed to accelerate every time his mobile vibrated. He hadn’t noticed Greg walk in, who headed to the kitchen to get a drink.

“How’s loverboy?” He called out, making John jump.

“Hes uh, good. Asked me out on a date on Friday.”

“Fun. Mike refuses to believe me that you two snogging happened, might not get that money after all.” He teased, drinking his water.

“He told me he likes me.” John seemed to ignore the entirety of what Greg had told him, the conversation Sherlock and him had echoed through his head.

“Yeah? How’d he go about doing it?” Greg walked to the living room to sit in the armchair near their sofa.

“He called me an onion.” John looked up at Greg with a grin on his face.

“Oh, so he’s fucking mental. Right. Got it.” 

“I know it sounds so strange out of context but he compared the dopamine in his brain to the reaction we have when we cut onions.”

“Still a bit mental,” Greg muttered, but glanced softly at John “You’re in it deep, aren’t you?”

“A bit, yeah,” John was grinning at his flatmate, who grinned back. “Can you blame me though?”

“Why are you two texting though? Assumed you two would be together for every waking moment.”

“We ditched class to go to his flat, but then his brother decided to show up and kick me out.” He let out an awkward, laugh, scratching the back of his head.

“Is his brother gone?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So go back over. Like the time he surprised you.”

“But what if he reacts badly?”

“Then go out and get pissed. It’s a Tuesday afternoon, live a little.” John nodded and stood up, stretching his back.

“Lemme know if you don’t want me coming back, yeah? Mike told me Laura’s boyfriend broke up with her, might need a shoulder to cry on.” Greg’s eyes widen and he stood up as well, fidgeting for his mobile.

“Couple of blokes helping each other pull, eh?” Greg grinned as he watched John put his shoes on.

“I’ll be back late.”

“You better be!” Greg yelled out as John headed out the door and right to the lift.


End file.
